


Ford Falcon

by protagonistically (the_protagonist)



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, General Fic, Preboot, post breakup, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_protagonist/pseuds/protagonistically
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim doesn’t move, and she feels more then sees him shove his hands in his front pockets and blows out a breath as they both study the covered-up car. “We could burn it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ford Falcon

"So, there it is," Stephanie crosses her arms across her chest while Tim carefully lifts up the door of the storage unit. It groans and clanks as the door slides along the metal track.

She watches as Tim drops his arms back down to his sides, wipes his dirty, dusty hands on the belly of his t-shirt and then on the tops of his denim covered thighs, she quirks her lips at the dark stains they leave.

It’s not that full, the room, just a few cardboard boxes, a few of those black garbage bags with the yellow handles bulging with something, probably clothes that her mom didn’t want to deal with. A guitar case is leaning against the wall, some framed art from the 80’s, in plastic frames. Most of the space is swallowed up by the car, the frame of it under a giant dust cover.

It sits ominously in the space, like a big, dumb ghost that’s come to haunt her with it’s smooth, shiny exterior and leather seats that still smell like the aftershave her dad tended to favor.

"There it is," Tim agrees and he shifts just so, just enough that the butter soft flannel on his upper arm brushes against her shoulder as he stands next to her.

She makes a note to steal it from him before the end of the day.

"So, there it is," The man repeats, still gently pressing into her side in such a very Tim Drake display of emotional support that her insides warm, "So, what would you like to do with it?"

She shrugs, lifts a shoulder, because she honestly has no idea. Tim isn’t usually shy about voicing his opinions on things to her. It’s why she hates him; it’s why she loves him. But more to the point, it’s why she brought him.

He doesn’t move, and she feels more then sees him shove his hands in his front pockets and blows out a breath as they both study the covered-up car. “We could burn it.”

A bark of surprised laughter erupts out of her mouth before she can even think to hold it back. “It’s really sweet that you’d still commit arson for me, ex-boyfriend wonderful.”

"You greatly underestimate how much I hate your… sperm donor, Steph, I’m sorry,"

Tim’s voice isn’t that deep, it’s a nice tenor, but it goes rough for a second and Stephanie is reminded that Tim is a very powerful person. She forgets sometimes.

"Besides," He’s back to his normal cadence and there’s a lilt to his tone, "I don’t think it’s arson if it’s technically your property."

She snorts a laugh.

"I think they just consider it ‘burning an effigy.’"

She hates that Tim can always make her laugh. It’s so unfair. “Alright there, firestarter, don’t you even want to see it before you set it aflame? You love pretty, fast cars. Sometimes I thought you were going to leave me for the Redbird.”

"I love you more." He responds, simply. And that’s why she dated him for three years.

She steps forward and grabs at the dust cloth and yanks, and the car is fully visible, the sun from the door winking off the shiny, chrome detailing on the headlights and grill.

The 1972 Ford Falcon has a body that is matte black with age and liberal paint damage. The hard top is dented on one side and Steph knows that the engine won’t turn over, the battery long since dead, that the whole thing probably needs to be rebuilt from the inside. It’d be a project.

It was her dad’s project, apparently.

Being a petty criminal didn’t leave a lot of time to refinish classic cars, as it turns out.

Stephanie, however, knows several grumpy people that owe her favors that could have it purring beneath her in a two weeks if it made her happy.

She stares at the car. It’s just a car. A free car. A free, fast car. It’s… pretty, even.

But it was his.

"So, thoughts, Mr. Drake?" She rips her eyes away from the driver’s side seat, turns to study the boy with his hands in his pockets and his bottom lip between his teeth.

"It’s a really pretty car, Steph. We could fix it up, get it in good shape… It’d probably be really fun to drive…" the look on his face is thoughtful, but to his credit he doesn’t move to touch it, to pop the hood or slide into the drivers seat. Instead he just shrugs and turns away from the car to face her, "Or we could burn it."

She turns to go stand by Tim again, arm against his shoulder, and looks at the car, innocuous as it sits there with the dust cover pooled at it’s dry-rotted tires. “…It might be nice to have a car, though, I mean. For Stephanie Brown, not Batgirl.”

"Doesn’t have to be this car, though, Steph. We could sell it for parts. You could buy something else."

"But it’s a pretty sweet car." she echoes Tim’s early assessment in agreement. Because it is. 

That’s what sucks.

She wants to hate it so much. She wants to want to burn it, to sink it in the bottom of the Raritan Bay.

Tim’s arm comes up and around her back and he squeezes her shoulder in a one armed hug, his calloused fingers rub up and down her bicep. “I mean, if you decide to keep it, we can definitely paint it eggplant.”

And she smiles at that, because her dad would have hated that.

And her car would look like a rockstar in eggplant.


End file.
